An Artist's Vision
by Kelly Min
Summary: Challenge 5 on a Danny Phantom community. Rated this way for language and impressed scenes.


Title: An Artist's Vision  
  
Pairing(s): Again... going to need to read it.  
  
Rating: R (because of the once again impressed scenes... and the language... ehehe...)  
  
Time: 100 minutes... give or take  
  
Spoiler(s): None at all...  
  
Disclaimer: Danny Phantom Cast (in entirety) belongs to Butch Hartman. Um, the characters, if any... created for the sole purpose use for this challenge, are my own.  
  
Author's Note: This one came to me suddenly... as I read the challenge topic... I thought about the different kinds of "texture" it could mean. Sadly, this one might make you guys hate me... as there is an implied scene here, that I was unsure to write... but hell, you've been given warning, okay? This is set back in their childhood. Everyone's like around ten or so... okay? I think that this will make some sense though and surprise others...  
  
"An Artist's Vision"  
  
"Mr. Baxter, I'd like to thank you for coming tonight." Ms. Pengledree, Dash's 5th grade teacher, smiled to Dash's father. Dash's father grumbled something about "pathetic pansy" and cleared his throat, in a rather gutteral manner. Theodore (Dore) Baxter stood six feet, and was rather beer- bellyed. He had hard green eyes and buzz cut black hair. Dash had his mother's hair and eyes. Dore was everything you hated a father to be. Dominating, his word was law, etc...  
  
"Dash is showing high potentials in his art class, his teacher continually tells me what a genius he could be." Ms. Pengledree all but beamed. Dore's eyes raged at that. He stood up, the wiff of brandy more than obvious on not only his breath but on his person.  
  
"Thanks for letting me know, Ms. Pengledree." He then headed over to the door. Before exiting, he turned to say. "It will never happen again, I assure you." His words slurred, as the alcholic man normally bellowed. The door slammed on a rather puzzled, almost frightened teacher.  
  
It was a quick drive home. The Baxter household was immaculate. Dash's mother... Irene, was a cleaning freak, and that's a good thing – because Dore hated things being out of place. Dore's powerful grip and threatening fists were enough to keep this family in line. But the Baxter household was kept secret from the rest of the world. Once the family stepped in that door it was back to routine no others knew of.  
  
Irene was just setting the table for breakfast (for the next morning) when the door slammed shut. A grunt or two, and Dore was in the kitchen. "Where's the boy?" He snarled ravenously. Irene swallowed, threated to silence by his threatening anger. "Upstairs dear, doing his... homework." Dore nodded, and stomped up the stairs. Irene, hand over her heart, took a minute to pause.  
  
Dash, who was working on his history paper, heard the familiar stomp of his father's feet. Dash has never been the same boy he's known as... he was something much different at ten. He was a kind and helpful boy, who did anything not to ensure his father's rage. He loved to paint and try to escape the real world with that hobby. Little did he know how much tonight would change him forever.  
  
A loud pounding was now at his door. "You better open this door boy, 'fore I get the switch!" He bellowed angrily. Dash shook a second, before he pulled the door open. A fuming Dore stood there, all but blocking the doorway. Dash swallowed thickly. Irene who was at the bottom of the stairs, wrung her hands and then decided to hide herself in the studio for now until it was overwith.  
  
"D-D-D-Dad... hi. Um, did... did you have a nice... talk with my teacher?" Dash quaked with fear. Dore took a quick glance around the room. Growling as he saw more of these alleged paintings that were never brought to his attention before. His eyes glared back at his son.  
  
"You little pansy. How comes I got to find out from your teacher you a paintin' wizard?!" He all but blew the roof off the room. Dash cowered now, thinking quickly. "D-D-Dad... I... thought you knew... I didn't... please... didn't mean..." Dash shook. Dore was now unbuckling his belt. But this time... it would be different.  
  
"Why you want to humiliate your father at every turn, huh?! Ain't I raised you right, boy? If you had told me when you started, you wouldn't be in trouble now!" Dore raged. Dash still moved back until he was backed against a wall. Dash swallowed thickly once again. Dore loomed.  
  
"But but Dad... I didn't mean to humiliate... I love you dad... I... I... paint because... there's... so many different... textures to work with..." Dash wasn't making that up. He enjoyed painting because you could do it so many different ways and never be wrong. Unlike with his father and how he portrayed his son. Dore seemed to pause now. As if he understood.  
  
"Texture, huh? I'll show you texture... damnit boy, you ain't been nothin' but hell since birth...! When you gonna be a man? Like me? Not some damned pansy paintin' and flower-pickin'?!" Dore hollered.  
  
"Drop 'em." He snarled. Dash whimpered but complied. Turning around, he exposed his bare bottom, ready for the customary whooping, followed by a good cry and then getting over it for the next day. But this time, he felt his father pressing against him.  
  
"I'm teachin' ya somethin' here, Dash... keep this up, an' those damn homos gonna do this to ya!" Dash screamed as he felt violations in an area he never thought possible. His father was rough, violent, his father had raped him... as punishment. And when it was all over, Dore stood at the door looming once more.  
  
"Lessons over, boy. Get your ass to bed... and I want every painting gone from this house by tomorrow night! Or you'll live to regret it!" And the door slammed as Dash cried. Dash couldn't even take a shower, he didn't even know what happened. Inside of his body or his father.  
  
This was the untold story of Dash Baxter. To follow this, Dash's father suffered a heart-attack five months later and died on Dash's eleventh birthday. Dash changed from then on, but he was always a better man than his father. His mother's still single and a fragile, broken woman. Dash plays football and is the jock like jerk at Casper High now, but he's still not free of the one thing that still haunts him.  
  
Dore Baxter. 


End file.
